


Desiderium

by darkponds



Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Cousin Incest, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, Past Relationship(s), for my feels, i don't know how distant they are tbh, i think, not the point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 21:40:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19732303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkponds/pseuds/darkponds
Summary: Itachi was going to die. And in a mere moment, just like so many other times he was faced with reality, nothing was as it seemed.





	Desiderium

**Author's Note:**

> i'm just sad, alright ?

The sky shows vague signs of rain to come. The hour was unknown, and Kisame was far away from him now. It came ever so often, the creeping feeling of needing to be alone. To have no one to whisper their plots and tidings to him. He’s been one to listen so closely for all his life. Listening, watching, waiting. Waiting for the moment perfect for his strike. In any and all endeavors he is but a tool that has always served some greater purpose. 

He has become wiser now in his age, but much lazier. The fatigue ropes in on him daily, choking him like an impossible rope of iron. The metal of it frayed, and ill-crafted as it digs into his neck. The smell of iron filling his senses as he coughs up the definite wetness of blood from his aching and tired body. 

His fingers flex against nothing in the pine-scented mist of the air. The fog is thick and his senses are dulled more so today than as of late. He can’t control this ailment. It will never cease. The scent of strong herbs is still in his nostrils as the air flows sharp through his lungs. He’s desperate not to choke on a breath. His time is running out. There is no doctor and his time was coming soon. 

As the days pass, he feels him getting closer. Though his mind is still sharp, his vision is terribly dulled. It comes and goes in unsure waves where the edges of light seem to become clear just before blurring once more. There is no shape to the leaves, to the branches, there is no pain in the gleam of the sun. There is no clear reflection in the surface of even the clearest water. There is only a sting of blood as the pain nags him to keep his ability dormant for as long as his fate requires. 

Fate he thought was not something predetermined. It was something you could map for yourself. And he had mapped his own. He had missed many opportunities in his path. All semblances of normalcy that he was deprived of was no mistake. It was planned carefully and all with a reason. 

He is grateful that at the end of it all- he no longer feels disgraced by this. The eyes that burn in the wake of flaring chakra, they have never felt like his own because they are not. The eyes aid him as much as they haunt him. Like carrying the severed, bleeding heart of a dead lover. 

It was exactly like that. And it makes him wonder how he still feels so strongly that somehow, one day, all will be well. But only after he is gone from this world. 

The moment is stale and bitter. He lets himself sit for quite some time in the empty canyon of pine and soft grass. He waits until he is so alone that not even a hummingbird could disturb him now. It is rare that he will experience the tides of emotion welling up in him. But as perfect as guarded as he wishes to be, he cannot will it with his age. The older he grows, the softer his will. He will not cry. There is nothing strong enough to prompt it. He breathes sharply still and curses himself as he feels a wretch of blood rising up from his lungs. He coughs in earnest, fighting it with all of his might. 

He hears the snap of a trig not far from his ear, and he halts his cough to the best of his ability. He tastes blood on the back of his teeth as he holds his breath. Against his better judgement he zeros in on the source of the sound, the eight of the presence extending to where he sits vulnerable and charged with alarm. 

He is not alone. Someone lingers in the trees and without a doubt watches him. He doesn’t speak yet. He will not call out. Not until he knows more. He stands abruptly and senses their swift retreat. It is to goad him. The lure down the path. Surely this person is no match for him, even in his weakened state. 

He will take the challenge and willingly go into the supposed trap. His vision sharpens a fraction as he chases, only with him looking straight ahead. If he strays, it blurs. As if his eyes were pulling him towards a beacon of relief. 

They’ve stopped moving. Itachi looks on sharply, their back turned under the arch of a dimly lit cavern where a fire clearly burns. Their camp. They wear black. A white bandage wrapped around their head through dark, wavy hair. He senses their fear. Their approach made little sense. 

“Show yourself.” He demands. 

Just them he hears a sharp intake of breath from them. There’s a scent in the air that’s too familiar. There’s an ache he can’t describe. 

The man turns. Itachi can’t breathe. Bandages cover his eyes, but he is no stranger. 

“Itachi,” He says with relief, “Is it you?” 

Itachi draws forward carefully, every step his heart beats fiercer in his chest. Tears brim in his eyes, praying to whatever gods may exist that this is no dream. That this is a new reality he is faced with. 

He reaches up with trembling hands, know that this person cannot see anything he does, for they are clearly blind. He grasps their face in his hands roughly and refrains from injuring them. The threat is upon him, and this could all be a twisted lie for an enemy's benefit. His hands plead for him as they hold fast, his knees going weak beneath him. It’s a silent plea, almost begging in their tremble. 

He understands what Itachi needs. 

“You must be tired,” He sighs around a shaky breath, “From using your sharingan.” 

Itachi breaks under the numb façade that he holds so dear. He collapses weakly down the rocky grass, letting a sob rip through him. He knows. He knows him, and yet he doesn’t understand. 

Suddenly there are arms around him, pulling him close and rocking him gently. He has never known gentleness. He has only ever known one person to be so gentle with him. 

“Shh,” He whispers into his ear, doing nothing to hide the tremor of sadness in his voice. “It’s all right now.” 

“You _died_.” Itachi rasps out harshly. “I saw you. You were _dead_.” 

“I did.” 

“This is a lie. An _illusion_.” He cries. There’s no other explanation. 

“But you are the master of illusions, Itachi.” 

“All this time. All this time why didn’t you come to me?” He can’t help the anger he feels; he can’t help the anguish that burns through him, knowing he was alive all this time. 

“You had to set your own path, Itachi. I could not interfere.” He explains softly. 

“Why now?” He sobs brokenly, “Why show yourself now?” 

“Because I know that very soon, you will die. As I did a long time ago.” 

Itachi doesn’t wish to think of this now. He still doesn’t understand. 

“I gave you these eyes so you may always see the truth. So, you may always see hope and love.” 

Itachi grits his teeth, fingers grasping the fabric of his robe harshly. The unfairness of his life never truly so apparent to him before as it was in this moment. 

Before he may speak, gentle lips graze his forehead, placing a kiss there that only makes his heart pang with more longing. He doesn’t care for this moment. Just for now, he doesn’t care. 

He kisses him full on the lips, dragging him in harshly. Itachi does nothing to apologize for the gesture. He lets himself feel everything that he has deprived himself of for so long. 

A broken sigh leaves their lips as they part. 

“Be strong, Itachi.” 

And Itachi knows that this will end as quickly as it began. He knows that he is not the master of illusion. 

Eyes fly open in the dead of night, a claiming sleep now clearing from his mind. His heart clenches painfully. This is not the first he’s dreamt of him. 

But he knows that it will be the last. 

Time is running out. 

He makes his way to the Uchiha hideout with a heavy heart, telling himself that he doesn’t have a single regret. 

**Author's Note:**

> i needed to write this. flame me if u want. :')


End file.
